


Seasick

by Pastel_Macaroon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John is sick, M/M, Semi Angst, Sherlock takes care of him, Sick Fic, Tea, Vomiting, more tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Macaroon/pseuds/Pastel_Macaroon
Summary: John gets ill after falling into a river. Sherlock feels rather guilty, seeing as he was the one who took him there. And so, he takes up the responsibility of caring for him.Unfortunately he doesn’t know what to do.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Seasick

**Author's Note:**

> There is vomiting in this fic, and if that isn’t your cup of tea (get it?) please find a more appropriate fic for you!  
> If you are that desperate to read my work, 1: thank you, 2: I’ll mark out the ‘danger’ area with *** and put another for where it ends :>

Now in cuffs, the man was shoved into the police car. Lestrade looked rather smug and proud; finally catching his own criminal! But alas, Sherlock and John had helped and would probably be getting most if not all of the credit. For now, he could appreciate the work he had done.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was looking around, seemingly _worried_. Hands tightly gripping the innards of his pockets, he began pacing back to where the chase had occurred, following the criminals path exactly. Over the roaring noise of a raging river, he could hear a voice.

An awfully familiar one.

Calling his name.

Lestrade now followed him, looking concerned. “Sherlock?”

”Where’s John?”

”He was - he was just here, wasn’t he?” he stuttered, giving a double take in his shock. John - he was sure he’d been there with them!

Sherlock’s pace quickened as he approached the river, breathing becoming heavy as he practically ran to the waters edge. And there, trapped in the current, was a struggling John; head often disappearing under the water. Arms flailed about as he screamed, trying to be heard.

”Sher-“ cough. “Sherlock!” 

Water flooded his mouth and infiltrated his lungs, making him feel sick. A pale face looked grave as he tried his best to spit any offending liquid from his mouth. John wasn’t a bad swimmer, in fact he was quite good. But the previous days had been filled with heavy rain, which left the river a raging beast.

Sherlock began shouting commands to Lestrade as he himself went to go find a branch that John could grab onto, and then pull him to the shore. Lestrade was now trying to tell John to swim forewords to a calmer area, so that they could get to him easier.

By this time, John was numb. Fingers were nonexistent and legs felt like chunks of flesh. He tried his best to listen but his head felt both heavy and light, and eyelids were quickly failing him. Everything had gone somewhat gloomy to him as edges of vision faded away. Hearing had turned to an echo and was only worsening the feeling he’d pass out in the water. 

Sherlock was practically screaming his name by now, trying to catch his attention. This was not the way Doctor John Watson would die; not if he had a say in it. The branch he had found could just about reach John, and had a good area for him to grip onto even with numb hands. But John was still taking no notice. Sherlock had to poke him with it at least five times before he took the hint and held on as best he could.

It took the combined effort of both Sherlock and Lestrade to pull him to safety. John’s chest heaved and he coughed up water as Sherlock and Lestrade were trying to help him breathe clearly. He shivered on the grass and began sobbing and laughing. He’d nearly died in a _river._ Of all the things, a river could have killed him.

”John, what happened?!” asked Sherlock, shouting again. Lestrade placed a hand on his shoulder and said he should take him home before questioning him. Fair enough. He was freezing, still coughing, and looked as pale as a corpse. Which he had seen many of.

* * *

Mrs Hudson opened the door and gave a gasp. Sherlock was holding John, who was now wrapped up in a blanket, but still rather soaked. She quickly let them inside and lit a fire, then gathered some towels for John. Shakily, he thanked her, teeth chattering. Sherlock went to the kitchen to make some tea, and Mrs Hudson followed.

”What happened to him? The poor boy’s chilled to the bone!” she said, rather shocked.

”I’m not quite sure. I need to ask him when he can answer. All I know is he fell into a river,”

”Oh, poor John. Should we take him to a doctor?”

***

At this moment, a heaving noise came from the sitting room. Both heads turned to see John bent over on the floor, throwing up near pure water. Onto the carpet. Sherlock went and dragged him into the bathroom, as John slurred out apology after apology. He then did the same, but this time - thankfully - into the toilet. Sherlock simply pat him on the back and went to asses the mess. He lifted his hands and curved his fingers towards his palm slightly, looking uncertain. He didn’t want a stain on the carpet, nor a lingering smell, but he had no idea how to fix it. Concerning noises were still coming from the bathroom; choking, coughing, spluttering, groaning...

Mrs Hudson handed Sherlock some sort of cleaning powder. She told him to put it on the mark, get a damp cloth, scrub it, leave it for a while, then use the vacuum to clean it. Sherlock stood there, entirely out of his element, and watched Mrs Hudson grab her coat.

”Where are you going?”

”It’s bingo night, silly!” she giggled. “Just look after John. Give him some nice tea, some soup, keep him warm, and clean up that awful mess!”

The door clicked and she was now gone. Sherlock was alone. With John. Who was sick. And he had to clean. And a thud had just come from the bathroom. 

***

After carrying John to the sofa (he’d passed out in the bathroom), he wondered if he should get him some clean clothes. But of course, he didn’t want to undress him whilst he was so vulnerable. The previous times he’d undressed him had been more appropriate. Instead, he placed towels on the sofa and fetched some clean clothes for him when he woke up. In the meantime, he followed Mrs Hudson’s instructions to clean the carpet.

With a few errors. 

Firstly, he poured too much of the powder onto the carpet. He only knew this after he tried scrubbing it, because it fizzed and bubbled alarmingly. It then began expanding and left a cloud of bubbles on the carpet. Which wasn’t what should have happened.

He then remembered about the tea he had started making and found a smoking kettle. After turning that off, he had to re-light the fire so that John would be warm if he decided to come sit here again. So he did that too.

And then there was a knock at the door.

When he went to see who it was, Mycroft entered. 

“Hello brother, what are you doing here all alone?” he blurted in his usual rush, heading upstairs. “Goodness me, what is that awful stench? Have you and Watson fallen out again? Ooh, a fire. Do you have a fling coming over?”

”Mycroft!” Holmes grumbled, putting a finger to his lips. “John is ill. He is asleep in the other room, and so I would appreciate it if you shut up and leave,”

Mycroft made a pouting face, a mocking of misery. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. Are you going to make him some chicken soup? To help him feel better?”

Sherlock glared at him, pointing back downstairs. “Out,”

”I was just informing you there’s a case that might interest y-“

” _Out,”_

Mycroft rolled his eyes and gave him a sarcastic ‘You’ll regret it later!’ as he left 221B. Sherlock might as well regret it later, but he most certainly did not now. After a quick check on John, he went back to cleaning. The mess of foam had died down, and he cleaned it up. Thankfully, it had still worked, and there was no stain nor sour smell. He brewed some new tea and made sure not to entirely ruin it this time. He was still waiting for the tea to be ready when he heard a groan come from the sofa.

”John?” he called, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing back into his ears.

”.. here,” croaked John. He still sounded awful.

Sherlock hesitantly entered the room again, peering around the corner. John was now sat up, eyes hazy and cheeks flushed ; clearly ridden with a fever. Still, he wasn’t swaying from side to side with nausea by now, which was good.

”How... how are you feeling?” he said, a level of uncertainty clearly visible in his voice. Hearable? No, that’s not a word.

”.. better. I guess,” he muttered, eyes threatening to close again. 

“Would you like some tea? I made some,” he blurted, not wanting John to fall asleep just yet. He needed fluids after he’d discarded all he had previously.

”That’d be nice, Sherlock,” mumbled John sleepily. His voice sounded oddly sweet, and he looked up at Sherlock with a small smile.

Sherlock went and poured the tea into a cup, spilling some on his hand. He cursed vividly and hastily shoved his red hand under the cold tap. Damn, since when was everything so hard? Mrs Hudson really did do most things for them. After wiping the spilled tea from the counter and side of the cup, he took it to John; shaking hands threatened to spill more of the liquid onto the floor. Thankfully, it all stayed in the cup.

John took it and sipped it delicately. It certainly wasn’t the best tea he’d ever had, but it was comforting. And it gave him a little buzz that the Sherlock Holmes had made him tea, and was now taking care of him. A triumphant smile creeped along his face at the thought. “Thanks Sherlock,”

Sherlock didn’t respond, but John saw a flicker of happiness on his face as he left to the kitchen again.

* * *

Mrs Hudson returned to the house late that night; a round of bingo had ended in a fight between her and a new member. The old hag had dared to cheat in her field of view!

”Sorry I’m late, boys! Things got a bit wild an-“

She stood in stunned silence to see Sherlock and John on the sofa.

Together.

Cuddling in their sleep.

It was a sweet scene. John’s head rested on Sherlock’s shoulder, and Sherlock’s arm was around John. She pulled the blanket they shared to be more comfortably around Sherlock, and gave a smile.

Perhaps they weren’t gay, but there was something certainly more than friendship between them.


End file.
